morganite
by AfterReign
Summary: As the new Exalt, Lucina should be concerned about "important" matters, such as taxes, training, suitors, and the grand Halidom of Ylisse. Instead, doppelgangers of her friends and the thought of not having one herself fill her head. And how about that cloaked figure outlined behind the pillars' shadows? He's stuck in her mind as well. ― Lucina-centric. AU. Spoilers for Fates.
Lucina usually feels lonely during mornings.

As the sun peeks from the heavy curtains, a dash of dreadfulness lingers in the girl's mouth, as if the terrible aftertaste of whatever she had before going into slumber still stuck to her tongue. She lays there alone, with only her deep breaths to accompany her, until she rolls to the side and expects a jubilant grin or the sleeping face of another to greet her.

But why? It's been bothering her for the past week or so. To have someone by her side while she's asleep is not just odd but downright creepy, especially if she has no thoughts in being wed to the suitors attempting to woo her. Exactly whose smile is she expecting to see when she wakes up?

For now, she thinks it's Owain.

Owain, who's a member of the self-established Justice Cabal, speaks―no, _monologues_ whenever the chance appears. He's a one-man show, flowery speech and all, yet he tries to avoid talking so flamboyantly when he's alone with the girl for some reason. It probably has something to do with Aunt Lissa again, and Lucina can't help but sigh at the thought of a sulking Owain enduring a round of his mother's lectures.

Today happens to be different.

"You're telling me you called us all the way here just to show off some sword you received from a stranger?" asks Gerome, his arms crossed over his chest.

"It's not just some sword, Gerome," Owain says with a scoff. Unsheathing the sword, a dark blade laid at rest in the myrmidon's hands, waiting to be swung. "The nicknamed Demon Sword, which once guided the ominous Black Knight and many others in battle lies at my disposal… The sword with the apocryphal brand, Mystletainn!"

Cynthia gasps, a look of awe in her eyes. "The legendary blade?!"

"Indeed, dear Cynthia!" the blond exclaims, a sense of pride in his words. "The fabled sword lies now in my possession, and with it, justice will be―"

"Wait a moment," Laurent cuts in. He strides to Owain's side and inspects the blade, adjusting the pair of spectacles on the bridge of his nose. "Although this sword bears a striking resemblance to the one of legend, I can assure you this fake," he says, flicking the blade with thin fingers, and the metal resounded for a mere moment, "is not the fabled Mystletainn."

The myrmidon does a double-take. "W-what? How can you be so sure?"

"The grip is a different color than the original," the mage states, running his fingers across it. His eyes gloss over the sword itself, and he frowns. "Likewise, the metal used for this blade appears to be weak, like iron, and a fabled blade such as Mystletainn would not be hailed as such if it was forged with that sort of metal."

Immediately, the blond grows shell-shocked, mouth agape. "What…"

"Another problem stands even if it was indeed Mystletainn. Only individuals of major holy Hezul blood have the ability to wield the sword, and if I'm not mistaken, you are not of―"

The clang of the sword plummeting to the ground stops the mage mid-sentence, and Owain's legs give out, the expression on his face priceless. "How was the Chosen One fooled by one of the Chosen so easily…?"

"The… Chosen?" Noire asks in a curious tone. She seemed to express everyone's confusion as well as her own.

"Yes," he calmly answers, that defeated look of his is still evident on his face. He lets Cynthia go to his side for comfort. "By Ike's mullet, I swear he was a Chosen One, just like I, Owain Lowell. But at the end of it all, he was only a doppelganger!"

Lucina blinks. "Don't you mean impostor?"

He hesitates. "… He was both."

An implied "what?" hangs over the twelve of them, but Owain struggles to answer. Instead, he fidgets in place before sighing. "... The Justice Cabal is adjourned."

A shared understanding between the children, with the exception of the Lord, lies at rest. Without question, all of them begin to take their leave. Severa is the first one to go, sending a glare to Owain, before she whips around to the exit, a fumbling Noire at her back. Surprisingly, Yarne quickly follows behind, almost tripping over nothing, as Brady shakes his head while walking besides him. Inigo is next after the four, offering Owain a reassuring smile before he exits, and the rest of the kids pour out of the secret base in a hurry afterwards.

"Owain?" Lucina offers with a confused but helpful smile. "Do you know who that doppelganger was?"

His eyebrows furrow. "I-I don't."

She squints. "… Really?"

"Well…" the myrmidon begins, carefully sheathing the fake blade away. He peeks at the blue-haired girl and then at the sword at his side. "Lucina, did you know that you're a Chosen One as well?"

"I am?" the Exalt questions before gently smiling. "I'm truly honored, Owain. I am curious as to what makes someone gain such a title, however."

"Usually, I would say a legendary sword," the blond begins to explain but pauses. Lucina notes the way he gazes at her own blade, the Falchion, before returning his focus towards her, "but it seem as if I lack one myself."

She gives him a comforting smile. "Owain, I'm sure you are still a Chosen One, legendary sword or not."

Owain returns her grin. "Thanks, Luci. Oh, but do you still want to learn what makes someone Chosen then?"

When she nods her head yes, he instantly perks up. "Got it! The second step to being a part of the Chosen is the stigmata you bear."

"Stigmata?" Lucina echoes before realization hits her square in the face. She quickly points to her left eye. "Do you mean the Brand of Exalt?"

"Yes! Nothing less from the Exalt herself," he booms, arms across his chest. "Of course, the Chosen may be people who do not have either of these two requirements, yet this is a rare occasion! … And so, I wanted to talk about the golden rule of the Chosen."

She chuckles. "There's a set of guidelines for being one of the Chosen? Sounds difficult."

"Don't worry. The only other rules besides the golden rule are being nice and looking cool, so you have that down," he assures with his own laugh before his tone takes to a serious turn. "The golden rule… is protection."

The swordswoman arches an eyebrow. "Protection from what?"

"Bad people," is his immediate answer before listing other things. "Dangerous animals, food poisoning, rocks you can trip on… Stuff like that."

Lucina stays silent. _Basically, being a friend? That's a little odd, but it does promote being a good person, at the very―_

"Lucina, I will protect you."

She frowns. "What? Owain, are you ill?"

Like at the drop of a coin, he immediately blushes. "I-I'm okay. It's the oath of the Chosen, so you have to say the same thing as well."

The Exalt contemplates whether or not asking the boy about his odd behavior will get an answer out of him, but she decides not to question it. "… Owain, I swear to protect you as well."

And as morning faded to a quiet noon and then to a silent night, Lucina didn't feel as lonely anymore under the sworn protection of her beloved cousin.


End file.
